"I can’t get this Giles! We’ve been on this one passage for over an hour," Willow said. Having no luck with the texts he had on hand, she’d even hooked up her optical character recognition pen to his computer in order to scan the text as it was written, in hopes that the translating software would recognize the words. However, all she got was an error message stating, ‘This text not recognized.’

"I know. I thought between the two of us we could surely decipher it..."

"We could. I could, if we had the right books," Willow said.

"Yes, thank you for bringing that to my attention. Obviously, and duly noted, we need the actual translation texts that are at The Council if we’re to be able to do it properly," Giles said.

"Uh-huh."

Giles sighed, as he took out his car keys. "Care to come with?"

"No. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stay here. I told Kennedy I’d call her this afternoon and find out what day she’s coming back and her flight information and all that."

"Of course. I’ll see you back here in a little while," Giles said.

A few minutes later, Willow was fixing herself a cup of tea when she heard Giles at the door. She couldn’t help but grin as she heard him mumbling about, ‘Bloody machines,’ as he let himself out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amanda led William and Buffy through the various rooms of the main floor of the house. William looked around, flinching at times, as the past seemed irrevocably lost in the newness of the present day furnishings.

They were now stopped in the kitchen.

"Obviously, this has been modernized over the years, but there’s still a few original things from the 1800’s. Like this drawer by the stove; I’m not sure what its original use was, but we keep our extra pots and pans in it," she said, pulling out large drawer that tipped forward.

"Coal," William said.

Buffy and Amanda turned to look at him.

"I believe it was a bin to keep coal that was used to heat the stove."

Amanda nodded, "That’s what we thought, but we weren’t sure. That makes sense. In the cellar there’s a patch of brick in the wall that we thought had once been a window, but someone told us it was originally the coal shoot. The mother probably went down to the cellar, and brought up a portion of the coal and stored it next to their stove."

"The cook."

Once more, Amanda and Buffy turned to look at him.

William cleared his throat. "It was probably the cook...who went to get the coal."

"Yes, you’re probably right, William. Most well-heeled families would’ve had a cook and a maid or two, as well," Amanda said.

They stayed in the kitchen a few minutes, Buffy and Amanda making small talk, until Alyson came running in, followed by Robert and Beatrice.

William took a deep breath, again, unsettled by seeing the older woman, who at first glance, looked very much like his mother.

"So, what do you think about this old house that’s been in the Spencer family for over one hundred years?" Robert asked.

"It looks...well maintained," William managed to answer.

"He hasn’t seen the upstairs, yet," Amanda said.

"I see, well then..."

"I can show them, mummy."

"How about if we both show them?" Amanda said, smiling at her daughter.

Alyson nodded, spontaneously taking hold of William’s hand, and began pulling him down the hallway towards the stairs. Buffy and Amanda exchanged a smile, as they followed.

Although William’s feet were moving fast to keep up with the young girl, inside he felt as though he were in slow motion as he ascended the well-known staircase. The new pictures on the walls seemed to shift and disappear, replaced by the familiar photographs of his grandfather, parents, brother, and himself. Once upstairs, doors were opened and closed as the various rooms were described and discussed, but William saw only through the memory of time to what had been. As the door to the main bedroom was opened, he could swear he saw the ghost of the maid coming out, carrying with her his mother’s chamber pot. Looking towards where his mother’s bed had been, he could envision her small, frail form. Surrounded by pictures of her family and vials of medicines that never seemed to help a whit, she lay pale against the sheets; her body weakened by the ravages of her disease.

Unaware, Amanda went on, describing how the upstairs had been remodeled in the early 1900’s to make way for indoor plumbing, and how another bedroom had been added.

"And this is Alyson’s room; the only room that is still very much like it was from the late 1800’s. Well, except for the decorating, of course," Amanda said, grinning as she opening the door into the final room.

A glance from William was all that Buffy needed to let her know that this had been his room. He stood rooted to the floor, as memories assailed him, the chitchat going on around him, unheard.

Amanda looked down at her daughter who was hopping from leg to leg. She bent over to whisper something to her. Alyson nodded.

"Excuse us for a moment. I need to take a certain young lady down the hall to the loo."

Buffy waited until they’d walked out, then went over to where William was standing and took his hand, squeezing it. Slowly coming out of his reverie, he looked down at their hands, then up at her.

"This is hard, isn’t it?" Buffy asked softly.

A brittle laugh erupted from deep inside of William; somewhere on the Richter Scale (if there were such a scale of laughs) between hysteria and anguish.

"God, I’m sorry, that was incredibly stupid, I..."

"No, don’t apologize. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Elizabeth," William said, brushing his lips against her cheek. "Beside, I’m the one who brought us here."

She didn’t bother to argue that she’d been the one who had convinced him to come inside. It was a moot point now.

"They’ll be back in a few minutes. I mean, if you want to show me anything, that is."

William looked at her, then nodded.

"My bed used to be over there," he said, pointing to the wall underneath the long, windows that looked out onto the front garden and road beyond. "Not much larger than this one," he said, of Alyson’s twin bed. He ran his hand over the edge of the oak-trimmed windowsill, feeling for the familiar nick that he’d made as a boy with the nib of his pen. It was still there.

William walked over to a wall that now held an array of framed Disney characters, and a shelf full of stuffed toys and plastic horses. "This was where my desk was; spent a good portion of my waking hours right here," he said, remembering the small mahogany secretary which he’d studied his lessons, read his books, written essays for school, and poetry for the love of it. Most of all, it was where he’d imagined and yearned for something more than this life had seemed to have in store for him.

Buffy looked at him and could easily imagine a younger William, at his desk in clothes of his day, a wild mop of light brown curls falling over his spectacles, which would be sliding down his nose. This had been his room, his house...his world.

After a moment William walked to the opposite wall. "There was a large bookcase over here, and my wardrobe. Used to be a screen here, not a door," he said, pulling it open. "It wasn’t a closet then. It was a...well, where one went to do private things."

Buffy looked at him blankly.

"We had no proper toilet at the time. We still used chamber pots."

"Oh. Did you bathe in here, too."

"Of course not. Baths were taken in bathrooms; only water had to be heated downstairs in the kitchen and carried upstairs. See, back then, bathrooms were just beginning to catch on, but they weren’t quite commonplace yet. My father added the bathroom, and had drawn up the plans to make it fully functional with running water and all that; but before he could contract for it, he died. After that, my mum just didn’t think it was financially sound for her to spend the money on that when we could get by as we always had. We got by."

"Everything is so easy these days, in comparison, isn’t it? Buffy asked, then added, "Not that it’s been easy for you to be here..."

"I know what you meant, luv. And yes, in advances and technology, of course things are easier, but not so much in other things, I think. More complications with all that, too."

"Yeah, I get that."

William motioned her over to where he was standing. When she was next to him, he pointed to the back wall of the closet where a small set of stairs which led up to a hatch on the closet’s ceiling.

"The attic...you did it like this in Julian because of the way it was here where you grew up, didn’t you?" Buffy said, more to herself than to him.

"You mean he did," he said, his face right next to hers.

Buffy looked at him for a moment, until it dawned on her. She nodded.

"Can’t imagine much why I would. I didn’t spend any time up here; sort of scared me a bit when I’d hear noises at night from some bat that got in, or some such thing. Guess that wouldn’t much matter to a monster though would it? Can’t imagine a vampire afraid of things that go bump in the night."

"Then Spike put the stairs to the attic in the spare bedroom because he remembered how you felt about it," she said, not able to resist, and also having to answer-in-kind, in the third person.

William snorted. "Yeah, Spike was a real prince. That is, when he wasn’t out killing thousands of people."

Buffy sighed, not wanting to get into a discussion, or likely argument, of why Spike was so much more than just a monster, or how he still had the essence of the good man she knew him to be, inside him all along. Despite his recent acting out by changing his looks to that of Spike, and winding up working in a Willy’s-wannabe bar where fighting demons had been a common occurrence, William still wouldn't, or couldn’t, accept that Spike had ever been anything other than evil. It was as though William had changed places with the Scoobies...or Giles of old! Except now, the Scoobies, that is, what was left of them, and Giles had come around to accepting the truth: Spike had changed, even before the soul. He had been different from the beginning. And he had saved the world even in the biggest, loving, self-sacrificing gesture, ever. Yes, finally they had accepted all that...and William couldn't see it.

Buffy fought hard to push down her insecurities as she wondered if William didn't still consider her in that context; knowing what brought them together, and that she had loved -- no, still loved -- Spike, too. She had never forgotten the look of disdain on William’s face, when, after she’d admitted being involved with Angel, he had questioned her as to if there had been other vampires as well. This had been followed by his stinging query; "What the hell was the matter with you?"

It wasn’t a hard leap in logic, despite their recent reconciliation, to fear that a part of him would always feel that there was something innately wrong with her to have loved Spike, even if William was now the beneficiary of that love that she’d finally, and wholeheartedly, given. It made her heart hurt that William might, even unconsciously, consider her deficient in some way; that her love for him was somehow tainted because of her loving Spike in the past and because of what she’d been – what they’d both been.

A touch on her arm brought Buffy back to the moment. "I’m sorry," William said softly, his hand coming up to cradle her face. "It’s this place, being here..."

"I know," she said, looking up into William’s blue eyes, searching.

"Can’t help how we feel, can we?"

"We’re back," Amanda said, as she and Alyson came into the room, followed by Robert and Beatrice.

"I see you’ve discovered the stairs to the attic," Beatrice said.

William nodded, looking guilty.

"If you and Elizabeth don’t mind a bit of dust; well, more than a bit, I dare say, then feel free to go up there. There’s quite a collection of odds and ends from each generation up there."

"Even ours, unfortunately," Robert said.

"Storage," Amanda added.

"Would you like to take William and Elizabeth up to the attic?" Beatrice asked Alyson.

Alyson shook her head. "I don’t like the attic."

"Why on earth not?" The older woman asked.

"It’s scary; I hear things at night."

"That’s okay," William said, kneeling down in front of Alyson, "I used to...that is, I was scared of my attic when I was a boy, as well."

"You were?" Alyson asked.

"Indeed, I was. It was also in my room, and like you, I’d hear things at night."

"You did?"

William nodded, gravely.

"What was it?"

"Well, see, one day I decided to be brave, and I went up there with my flashlight..."

"Flashlight?" Alyson asked, puzzled.

"It’s another name for torch, dear," Robert interjected.

"Um...yes," William said, remembering that which Elizabeth called a flashlight, Giles had called a torch. Funny, all the things and terms for them, that had been invented in the one hundred plus years he had no memory of, he’d learned in American English. Now, he just had to learn those same terms in the Queen’s English, as well - trunk/boot, flashlight/torch; and on and on. Well, at least some things he’d already learned their dual terms from that wonderful invention that both sides of the pond called television.

"So, I take my torch up the stairs, and ever so slowly I lift the door up and poke my head up there," William said, while Alyson’s eyes grew large.

"What did you see?"

William grinned, "Well, I can’t see anything from there, so I shimmy all the rest of the way up, and start looking around. I shine my torch in one corner, then the other, even up to the ceiling. Then I hear it again, and it’s close by."

Alyson made a little gasping noise.

"My heart is pounding in my chest, I tell you," William said, putting his hand to his chest in demonstration.

"Were you scared?"

"Oh yes, I wanted to run, but I made myself stay. So, very quietly I follow the sound. Finally, behind a wooden chest, I spot it!"

"What was it?" Amanda asked, her voice hushed and breathless.

"I don’t know if I should tell you..."

"Yes you should! Tell me! What was it?"

"It was a..." William stopped to let the suspense build even more, "tiny, gray field mouse, come in to look for some food or to get in from the cold. Only this mouse had gigantic feet."

"It did?" Alyson gasped. "How big were they?"

William put his fingers up about three inches apart. "At least, I thought they were that big, but I think he just had some mouse shaped flypaper stuck to them, but I’m not sure; they looked pretty real to me."

"Did he see you?"

"He did."

"What did he do?" Alyson squealed.

"He looked me square in the eye, and stamped his big feet at me, then scurried away into his mouse hole. Only his feet were so big, they got stuck, and he had to pull them in one at a time. That was the last time that I saw him, but I still heard him clomping about at night. That, or could be that mice just sound much larger at night."

Alyson giggled, then promptly threw her arms around William and hugged him.

"Alyson’s really warmed up to him. She usually doesn’t do that with strangers," Amanda whispered to Buffy.

Buffy smiled, well aware of the natural way that William had with children. At Montessori, her students absolutely adored it when ever he would be a guest in the classroom, or when they would go to the library and he would read to them, tell them stories, or explain things to them in a way that they could understand. It was one of the many reasons she could add to the things she loved about him, and one of the reasons that all the pain he’d been subjected to just broke her heart for him.

William stood up when Alyson released him. "Perhaps you could look around for a big foot mouse, while Elizabeth and I look at other stuff up there in the attic?"

Alyson hesitated.

"I'm sure mummy wouldn't mind going up to the attic with you and our guests," Robert said, "That way she could help you look for a big-footed mouse when you're up there."

"Oh no, dear," Amanda said, in a sweeter-than-sweet voice, "I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to show Alyson what a good mouse hunter her daddy is."

Robert chuckled knowing he'd just walked into that one.

"Mummy, if I find a big footed mouse, can I keep him for a pet?" Alyson asked, excitedly.

Amanda smiled indulgently at her daughter. "You may, but only if it’s a big footed one, alright? The others don’t make such good pets at all."

END CHAPTER 197

CHAPTER 198 – A STORM BREWING

HIGHGATE VILLAGE

As they'd stood in the doorway of William’s family home, a polite smile pasted on her face, Buffy noted that the sky had turned an ugly shade of gray since they'd arrived. Robert, Amanda, and Alyson stood behind the matriarch, Beatrice, as she exacted promises for them to visit again, before she'd allow them to leave.

"Are you alright?" Buffy asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.

"Yeah," he said with a curt nod, grabbing her hand and pulling her along in the opposite direction from which they'd come.

"Where are we going?"

"This way," William said. He led her through side streets and back alleys, which gradually became hilly, and then steep. Finally, after they'd walked for what Buffy figured was nearly a mile, they came to an area of little shops and restaurants. After getting his bearings, they walked another block before stopping in front of a long, red brick, three-story, multi-use building that hugged an entire corner. But it wasn't the apartments above that were of interest to him, rather the small pub on the street level.

"The Flaming Goat's Foot, Est. 1849," Buffy read aloud, laughing. "Boy, and I thought demon names were strange!"

"It's still here," William said, looking up in marvel at the familiar old sign above the door.

"You know this place?"

William nodded. "My father used to go here occasionally. I remember my mum having me go and fetch him home once - but only once. He rarely went out drinking," he said, gently smiling at the memory.

"Oh," Buffy said, chagrined, then after a pause, "William, can I ask you something?"

"What, luv?"

"Nevermind. It's nothing."

"What?"

"Okay," she said. " I just wanted to know what's with all the strange pub names over here? I would've guessed that the English would have very proper names for pubs; all stiff and upper crusty names like, 'The Queens Fine Ales,' or 'The Knights of the Pub Table,' or something like that."

William rolled his eyes at her, and smiled indulgently, as one would at a child. "To wit, I believe that it's rather a point of pride in who can have the most outrageous name...and the best beer. The strange names, as you put it, are to get the patron in, but a fine choice of hops will keep them coming back."

William didn't tell her, but from what he recalled his father saying, this pub had plenty of the latter; which, at present, he felt sorely in need of.

~~~~~~~~

GREENWICH

WATCHER'S COUNCIL

With most all the girls away for the holidays, The Council was unusually quiet, even for a weekend. Giles let himself into the office, and as was his habit, turned on the television monitors to the rest of the building. A once over showed that there were still a couple of slayers in the media room watching the telly, but as far as he could tell they were the only ones on the premises.

On the way over, the vicar had called him on his mobile, telling him he’d gotten the number from Willow. Giles figured it was a courtesy call to thank him and the girls for their help the day before. Instead, the reverend had asked when would be a good time to come over and talk with him. He was about to tell the vicar that he could come around on Monday, but something about the seriousness of his tone made him take note. He told him that he was on his way to The Council, and that he could meet him there in a bit. The vicar readily accepted; Giles thought he heard relief in his voice, as he told him he'd see him within the hour. He then called Willow to tell her that he might be delayed.

Since he had some time before the vicar was to meet him, he thought he’d catch up on his email. It was a good thing; an email from a new watcher in the field, had sent him an urgent plea, asking him how to proceed with rapid training of a new slayer he'd just recently located in Columbia. The plan, as it was with all newly discovered slayers, was to bring them to London for schooling before having them return home or assigned to another area. The choice was theirs once their training was complete. The watcher in Columbia was concerned because the only way to get to their contact, was through a remote area which a master vampire held sway over, much like drug lords did over some areas in this part of the world. It was a little known fact, outside of those that knew of vampires, that some drug lords hired them as part of their army. It was rumored that this one had turned the tables, and became the head kingpin of drug operations himself, a double risk for anybody crossing through his territory.

Giles made a few calls and called in a few favors, and then emailed the watcher back, letting him know that their contact would be coming for them in a helicopter that he’d hired from the local government militia.

That taken care of, he set to finding the translation texts he needed. Three of them were on the bookshelves; the other two he found on William’s desk. He had just put them into the satchel he’d brought with him when he heard the buzzer. Checking the monitor trained on the outside of the building, he saw his guest.

"I’ll be right down," he said into the intercom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You’re not eating," Buffy said, as she looked at William across the weathered, wooden table -- likely as old as the pub itself.

William shrugged, but took few bites of the fish and chips they had ordered to placate her. A few minutes later, he saw their waitress at the next table. Avoiding what was sure to be Elizabeth’s disproving or concerned look, he none-the-less motioned for her to bring him another draught.

"You want anything else, too, Miss?" the waitress asked, when she'd brought William's beer to the table.

"No, I'm good," Buffy said. She wasn't sure the same could be said for William.

William drank down half the glass before reaching into her purse that sat between them on the table. Gingerly, he pulled out the photographs they had lifted when Robert and Amanda were on their ‘big footed mouse’ hunt on other side of the attic; not that taking them had been their original intention. They had found them in an old trunk containing what was left of his and his family’s belongings. With only a few moments alone to look through it, taking them had been a split-second decision. It just so happened that Buffy's purse had provided the ways and means in which to procure the few things that William most wanted.

The first picture was of himself as a baby, probably no older than a year, sitting upon his mother’s knee. If the little mop of curls he bore were anything to go by, he’d yet had his first haircut. The next, was a picture of the whole family; the only one he could remember with the four of them. It had been taken only a year or so before his father died. The last picture was one of him and his brother Henry. He studied their faces, noting that he looked self-conscious, while Henry looked as handsome as ever, if not quite unhappy that their mother had insisted on this joint picture.

After Henry's graduation from college, his mother had been quite adamant that he go along to the photographer's studio so the brothers could have their picture taken together, as well as some of Henry alone in his graduation cap and gown.

William remembered standing by the front door in his best suit, as his mother fussed with his tie one last time.

"You know that you're not to worry about such matters," she'd said softly, returning to his tie. "We're just fine, your father left us well provided for."

Their bill came as he was still looking at them. William paid the tab, and when he looked back down, he saw that a small, cast iron horse had been placed next to the pictures. Buffy was rewarded with the first real smile he’d given her since they left the house.

"Where did that come from?" William said, picking it up and examining it.

"Same place as the other stuff."

"I know that! I meant, when did you...?"

"Same time I took the pictures, when you were looking away."

"Watch," William said, as took the tail between his fingers and moved it up and down, causing horse’s head and hooves to do the same.

"Cool. I didn’t know it had moving parts."

"My father gave that to me when I was around eight or so," he said softly. "He brought it back for me from France when he was working there."

"Your father worked in France?"

"Among other places. He designed bridges, so he was away from home a lot when I was growing up. Usually, he’d bring Henry and me a rock or shell specimen from the area, and explain to us its geology, but sometimes he’d bring us a book, or a small toy, though that was quite rare."

"So you didn’t see him much when you were growing up?"

"Well, not every day, but it didn’t seem unusual, it was just what I knew. Plus, when he was home, it was always special. He was a good man..."

Buffy wanted to say that he was a good man, too, but she knew William would only scoff at the notion. "Then you were lucky," she said, instead.

"I was."

"I’m sorry I didn’t ask you all about your father and the rest of your family...last year that is," Buffy said.

"It’s alright, you really couldn’t, could you? Not anymore than I could talk about them without sounding like I was crazier than I already thought I was."

Buffy shook her head. "I’m so sorry..."

"Don’t," William said, reaching under the table to take her hand. "We’ve already been down this road too many times, yeah?"

"Yeah. I just wanted you to know that I really wanted to...I wanted to know everything about you from your past. I still do."

Absently, he stroked the small horse with his other hand. "This was on my desk from the time my dad gave it to me, until I...until I left. I’m glad you took it."

"I’m glad I did, too," Buffy said. "Maybe someday you’ll..."

"I’ll what?"

"Nothing," Buffy said, with a small enigmatic smile, and went back to eating her fries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GREENWICH

"I’m really quite sorry to bother you on the weekend," the vicar said for the second time in as many minutes, as he sat across the desk from Giles.

"Really, Reverend, you needn’t keep apologizing. I was going to be here anyway."

"Yes, I feel that I do. Miss Rosenberg told me that you were only coming for a short while, so I feel as though I’ve imposed on you. And please, call me George," the vicar said.

"If you’ll call me Rupert."

"Agreed."

"Then, George, before I ask you why you’ve come, might I offer you a drink?"

"That would be greatly appreciated."

Giles took out a bottle of Glenlivet from the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet along with two glasses he had stashed there, and poured a generous measure into each.

"I hope straight is alright with you."

"Quite," the vicar said, taking the glass that was offered.

"To your health and the continued safety of your girls," the vicar said, toasting.

"And to yours as well."

They clanked glasses and drank. Giles refilled them, and the vicar cleared his throat.

"I know this is going to sound...well, quite insane, really, but it’s that I heard some things...overheard, really."

"What sort of things?" Giles asked, his voice mild, but on mind on full alert.

The vicar shook his head, and swallowed back the rest of his drink. He laughed nervously. "I’m sure that I must’ve heard wrong, as it’s quite impossible."

"Unfortunately, vic...George, you’ve joined the small ranks of those who know about things in this world, that until a few years ago you would’ve also deemed as impossible. Why don’t you just tell me what it is that you overheard so we can determine if it was insane or not, as you put it."

The vicar’s eyes met Giles’ and he took a deep breath; "I’m afraid it’s about your houseguest, William Worthington."

"I see," Giles said, taking a deep breath. "What exactly did you hear?"

"That he..." the vicar swallowed, looking to the now empty shot glass longingly.

Giles poured him another shot, and waited.

"What I heard was that your William was once a vampire named Spike," the vicar said in a rush, quickly downing the burning alcohol in one gulp before continuing. "Not only that, but that after killing two other slayers, he then fell in love with the one whom you call Buffy, but that he calls Elizabeth, which somehow led to his getting his soul returned and becoming human once more. Like I said, pretty insane, isn’t it?"

"That it is, George," Giles said, with a small smile.

"Oh, thank the good lord," he said, visibly relieved.

"However," Giles said gently, "that doesn’t make it untrue. The fact of the matter is that it is true. All of it, in fact, just not quite as simply put as that."

A minute, then two, ticked by in silence.

"I was rather hoping that you thinking I was insane would win out. At the very least, that you’d laugh in my face," the vicar said, offering a weak smile.

"I’d never do the latter, but if you would prefer me to call the men in white coats, I can accommodate you there," Giles deadpanned.

The vicar laughed, and some of the tension in the room seemed to ease.

"Or, if that preference is off the table, I could tell you the truth, if you’d like."

The vicar nodded. "Truth is always the best option, isn’t it?"

"Agreed. Not always the easiest, but usually the best. Now, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HIGHGATE VILLAGE

2:00PM

As they walked out of the pub, sleet hit them in the face like so many tiny stinging insects. Within moments their hair and clothes were covered with the icy crystals.

"Damn, who ordered this crap?" Buffy asked, as she hurried to button up her coat.

"Probably the Queen. Welcome to winter in London," William said, dryly.

"Where to?" Buffy asked, squinting through the pelting sleet.

"First things first," he said, pulling her underneath a nearby shop's awning. He stood in front of her, shielding her from the elements, and motioned for her to finish buttoning her coat.

"Thanks. I’m good now," Buffy said.

"Not quite."

From her pocket William handed her the gloves that were in there. Next, he pulled her matching scarf out from the loops of her coat’s collar, and attempted to wrap it around her face. It barely fit, and he swore in frustration. Buffy couldn’t help but giggle. Not at him, but at the absurdity of standing there like a little kid being dressed for the snow; at least that’s the way she imagined it would be, not being from a snowy place in her childhood, after all. Finally, he wound up tying the too short, and mostly ineffective, scarf behind her head.

"You should have better than this rubbish," William mumbled, quickly glancing up into her eyes, before once again lowering them to survey his handiwork.

Years ago she would’ve been incensed when Spike would say things like this to her, daring to presume, let alone comment on her wardrobe, her anything, for that matter. Back then, she would’ve hurled an insult-in-kind about his fashion sense or lack thereof, and likely would’ve followed it with a punch to his nose in payment for his so-called caring. Only, as she’d finally come to realize, it had never been so-called. It had always been real.

Buffy pulled the scarf down off of her mouth.

"Elizabeth!"

"I love you," she said, pulling his head forward until her lips found his, her bare hands gently brushing the ice from his hair. "I love how you always care for me, how you always have."

William’s expression went from irritation to awe-filled.

"I try to. I do try to," he said, as he stared into her eyes, amazed as always to find the level of depth of her love, of her forgiveness; despite all his absences from her life, and for his many shortcomings.

"You do," she assured him, adding, "we take care of each other."

William nodded and pulled her into his arms. Grateful to forget the past and his turmoil for the moment, he let himself get lost in her welcoming embrace, her soft lovely mouth, and clever, tantalizing kisses.

William nodded and pulled her into his arms, grateful for the momentary escape into the warmth and welcome of her embrace, and to lose himself in the tantalizing heat of her kisses. Elizabeth's love for him was his strength - his only reprieve from the stark and ugly reality of his past sins. The most grievous of them, albeit unknowingly, once more brought to bear by his distant and elderly relative. Ironically, Beatrice herself was neither a descendent of the Worthington or Spencer bloodlines; having married into the latter side, yet, uncannily, she had physically resembled his own mother to such a degree, it had nearly brought him to his knees every time he had looked at her.

He closed his eyes and held onto Elizabeth for as long as public propriety would allow, knowing that the next place he needed her to see would be even harder. For him, there would be no respite...momentary or otherwise.

END OF CHAPTER 198

Coming soon - ch. 199 - Highgate Cemetery

CHAPTER 199 - HIGHGATE CEMETERY

HIGHGATE CEMETERY

2:30PM

As William and Buffy walked through Highgate Village they could hear a cacophony of car horns, as drivers skidded through the slippery mess at nearby intersections, trying to avoid near misses.

They turned onto Swain’s Lane, holding onto each other for support, as they gingerly made their way down the already steep and narrow road, now made treacherous by the ice. As the road veered gently to the right, Buffy had her first glance at the towering brick wall that was in the front of the Western Cemetery of Highgate. Likewise, across the street, a brick wall also stood in front of the Eastern Cemetery, although maybe only half as tall. To make up for its lack of height, it was topped with tall, cast iron railings with sharp spearheads.

"The Western Cemetery is the older part. It opened in the late 1830's, but from what I remember hearing, it was filling up so quickly that they had to build the East one within fifteen years or so."

"Why so quickly?" Buffy asked, as she tried to recall if she'd heard of any pandemics or plagues hitting Europe during that era.

"London was a large city even then, but most cemeteries had been on church properties; little affairs. As the population grew, there was barely adequate housing for all, let alone space to bury the dead. That's why there was a rash of cemeteries being built around then in an effort to keep up with the population, not to mention disease control."

"You mean the diseases that were killing people?"

"That, too. But I was talking about diseases from the corpses that had to lie around waiting to be buried."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. Anyway, they held the services for both sides here," William said, coming to a stop in front of the gate leading into the older, Western Cemetery, and pointing to the two chapels that lay inside it. "The one on the left is the Anglican one, and the other one is the Dissenters."

"Dissenters? What were they? People against the Anglicans?"

"Not against; more like the other way around. It refers to the Protestant sects who refused to conform to the Church of England in the early 1660’s. If you know anything of history, you know that the predominant religion of the land would usually pass laws forbidding the practices of other religions. In this case, when The Church of England--which incidentally, had broken off from Roman Catholicism itself--came to power, it outlawed the practice of other religions; at least, legally. Then there was the Toleration Act of 1689, which rectified some of those laws...that’s it in a nutshell," William said, as his voice faded off.

"That’s okay. Nutshell lessons are good," Buffy said grinning when she heard the expected groan at what she knew he would consider her English slaughtering quip.

"Come on," William said, taking her hand and crossing the street to the newer, Eastern side.

William hesitated in front of the narrow pedestrian gate, which stood between brick piers on one side and a heavy, double gate for hearses and cars on the other. Even through her gloves, Buffy could feel the tension in his hand as it held hers tightly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He didn’t answer.

"William?" Buffy said, placing her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Buffy said, her voice soft.

He reached up and gently traced her cheek with his fingers. "Yes, I do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The vicar swirled the glass of Scotch that was in his hand; Giles was keeping him well lubricated as they talked. He shook his head to clear it of the alcoholic haze that threatened to settle there.

Up until the day vampires had attacked the churches on Boxing Day, he had believed evil to be a force to be reckoned with, but one that could ultimately be overcome by prayer and belief in God. Still, despite his title and vocation, his belief on the nature of evil was that of a man of his times. That is, he primarily believed that the nature of evil was due to societal and mental ailments. He’d never really believed that evil could manifest itself as something that could physically fight and be fought in the flesh, so-to-speak.

Not that the Church of England’s archives themselves didn’t contain vast numbers of testimonies by those throughout the centuries who’d sworn they’d seen demons or vampires. Still, until he himself had...well, what was that saying? Seeing was believing? And what did that mean? Did it mean he couldn’t believe in God without actually ‘seeing’ him? That he just professed that he did? These were the questions that plagued him in the aftermath of the attack.

In the end, though, his belief was strengthened. If there were actual, physical manifestations of evil in the world, then the opposite side of the coin was that then there must be God--the epitome of goodness and forgiveness, and, most importantly, love. Otherwise, the vicar had finally come to reason: How could the world stay in balance or exist, even?

And yet, if seeing actual vampires five years ago had challenged his view of the world and God, then this latest revelation threatened to further turn every cherished belief he still held, upside down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

HIGHGATE

Just inside the cemetery gates, a small arrow directed all those who entered to a large mausoleum. William looked up at the name, Strathcona, carved above the door of the red, granite monstrosity that he remembered well, but with one glaring difference; on the door to the mausoleum itself was a sign which read:

"Well, that’s different," Buffy commented.

"I sure as hell don’t remember this," William said, frowning.

Buffy was beginning to wonder if members of the undead or demons ran the place. As far as she knew, the only time one checked-in to a cemetery was permanently. Then again, she doubted demons would be so polite or give fair warning of the presence. Or, maybe they would, being English and all. She didn’t have long to speculate, as the door to the mausoleum was suddenly pushed open from the inside. Reverting to slayer-mode, she automatically pushed William behind her, as they both jumped back in surprise.

A small, white-haired lady wearing a purple jacket emerged from the mausoleum. Upon seeing them, she abruptly halted. Buffy tried to push William back even further. He scowled at her, and firmly grabbed her around the waist, purposefully moving her aside.

"Stop it!" Buffy hissed under her breath at him.

"I’m sorry," the lady said, looking from one to the other with what Buffy would’ve sworn was a look of mild amusement. "I didn’t know anybody was out there. I didn’t mean to startle you."

"Oh, really? Well that makes us even, we didn’t know anybody was in there! Who and what are you? Vivitrex? Amorix?" Buffy demanded, trying to recall some of the names of demons whose modus operandi was to look like someone’s grandmother. She may not be The Slayer anymore, but she was duly suspicious of seemingly innocent little old ladies ever since the penis-headed one tried eat her when she worked at the Doublemeat Palace.

"Vivian," the woman answered, perplexed. She pointed to the nametag she wore on her jacket. It read:

"What does the F.O.H.C. stand for?" Buffy asked.

"Friends of Highgate Cemetery, of course," Vivian answered.

William nodded and Buffy had the good manners to look duly chagrined--at least for two seconds.

"Tell me, Vivian, why would a cemetery need volunteers; to procure new bodies? And while we’re at it, just what were you doing in there? Communing with the undead?" Buffy asked, pointing to the crypt.

The older woman took a hard look at Buffy and tsk-tsked. She then looked at William as though to question his choice of friends; this one apparently out on an ill-gotten day-pass from the local insane asylum.

William looked sheepishly at Vivian and shrugged, earning him a jab in the ribs from Buffy.

Without another word, Vivian pushed open the mausoleum door to reveal a tiny shop. William and Buffy looked at each other before tentatively following her into the Strathcona mausoleum.

As they entered, a man about the same age as Vivian stood up from the folding chair upon which he’d been sitting, to stand behind the small counter. With their backs to her, Vivian put one arthritic finger up to her temple and made small circles, her eyes motioning towards Buffy. The man gave her an imperceptible nod.

Against the left wall were two, metal racks. The smaller one held postcards of the more well known memorials, and maps of the grounds. The larger one held books about the cemetery's more famous residents, the history of the cemetery, and even one on its myths and lore. There were also photographs for sale of Highgate’s world-renowned Victorian funeral statuary that graced both East and West Cemeteries, with an emphasis on the West’s architectural wonders –The Lebanon Circle Vaults, Egyptian Avenue, and The Terrace Catacombs.

"That will be £2 each, sir," said the old man, as they approached the counter.

"I don’t understand. Are you telling me there’s a fee to go onto the grounds now?"

"Now?" The volunteer repeated, as he gave William a closer look. Surely, this young man wouldn’t have even been alive when the Friends of Highgate Cemetery first formed in order to preserve the cemetery from complete ruination.

"He’s been living abroad for a long time and his family never mentioned having to pay," Buffy said quickly, once more offering a reasonable explanation on William’s behalf. It was one of the many white lies she’d told since he’d returned - both for him, and, before he’d found out the truth, to him.

He gave her an irritated sidelong glance for her troubles.

"I see. In answer to your question, Highgate Cemetery was in such disrepair back in the 70’s, that it was either close it to the public for good, or start charging a fee. The money is used only for the cemetery’s upkeep. However, if your family owns gravesites here, then there’s no fee for you, of course."

William shook his head, avoiding her eyes, as he took out his wallet and duly paid the £4 entry fee for them both.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Leaves and snow crunching underfoot was the only sound, as they walked the frost-laden sidewalks through the cemetery. While William kept his eyes on the path before him, Buffy looked around her in awe. Like silent sentries to a bygone era, museum-worthy statues marked nearly every grave she passed by. There were all styles and manners of crosses, cherubs, and even animals, but it was the beautiful marble angels that she found herself most drawn to. Life-sized, they seemed ready to step off of their pedestals with their delicately carved bare feet and ethereally flowing robes. With their serene, yet sorrowful expressions, they stood their ground and mourned their dead.

The further they went the narrower and more overgrown the walkway became, until it could hardly be called one at all. Larger plots and statues soon gave way to the smaller, more densely arranged headstones; each vying for room between each other and the abundant trees and foliage. Buffy followed William as he determinedly sidestepped roots and broken stones on a trail he alone knew. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the shadows of inevitability that grew with each step he took.

Buffy heard him inhale sharply, as he came to a sudden stop. Standing behind him she looked down at a group of old headstones, almost completely covered with ground cover, snow, and leaves. She wouldn’t have even noticed them.

"William?"

Crouching, he started pulling the growth away from the stone; the inscriptions emerging as they were uncovered:

"I didn’t know you were named for your father," Buffy said, regretting that she’d avoided asking him much at all about his family for fear of bringing up memories of the past that he couldn’t understand.

"I was," William replied softly. "Although he went by his middle name, Philip."

He could feel Elizabeth standing behind him, although she’d discreetly moved back a polite distance to give him a bit of privacy as he looked at his father’s grave. He had mourned him when he’d died, but that had been when he was still quite young, and he had healed from the loss of his father. Now he only felt a tinge of sadness, coupled with the warm memories of the man. But this wasn’t why he had come.

After a few more moments, William took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the graves abutting his father’s on either side.

"I think these are..." he mumbled, as he knelt down and started clearing off the ones on the left side. He nodded to himself when his memory served.

"Are those...?" Buffy asked, seeing the name Worthington, uncovered by his labors.

"No," William said, knowing what she meant. "It’s my father’s parents. I barely remember them."

"Oh."

To the left of his father’s grave was one he didn’t remember seeing before. With grim determination, he started his efforts anew on it.

This time Buffy didn’t have to ask, as she saw the full name uncovered.

"Henry," William whispered, as his hands stilled over his brother’s name, the Abel to his Cain.

His mind awhirl, William desperately tried to search out a good memory, a warm memory -- anything to counterbalance the overwhelming shame he felt. As a child, he had deeply loved and adored his older brother, but he knew from an early age that the feeling wasn’t returned. What he had felt from Henry, for as long as he could remember, had been barely disguised scorn and loathing.

In fact, that he was often the butt of his brother’s cruel jokes is what lead him to assume that when he’d awoken naked and alone in The Field Museum warehouse, it was something Henry had orchestrated.

Still, that didn’t assuage, or mitigate the horror of what he knew he’d done to him when he had become a vampire. The old Scotland Yard reports that Giles had supplied him, made that revoltingly clear. Nobody deserved what had befallen Henry. Nobody.

Standing in profile to her, Buffy could see William’s Adam’s apple moving up and down along the column of his throat, and the tick of his jaw; telltale signs that he was trying to maintain composure in the face of his pain. Tears came to her eyes, but she resisted the strong urge to go to him. After a few minutes, her eyes wandered to two graves that stood a bit behind those of William’s father and Henry.

From where she stood, she could only make out the tops of the headstones and first names. In one of those split second flashes of detachment -- where the mind desperately tries to protect itself from the cold truth -- Buffy found herself pondering the commonality and frequency of the two names that she was clearly reading, yet not seeing. At nearly that same instant, the shocking yet, inevitable, light bulb moment arrived when she heard William inhale sharply. Glancing over at him, she realized he was now looking at the very same two names.

Only for him, he was seeing them.

END CHAPTER 199

If coming face-to-face with his own name, along with the dates of his birth and death inscribed on an empty grave was stone-cold sobering; seeing the same for his mother was truly horrifying, and, a thousand times worse. What had she done to deserve this fate? In repayment for a lifetime's worth of love and sacrifice, he had taken hers and turned her into a soulless vampire like himself, in the self-serving hopes that she would live forever. According to Elizabeth, when it appeared that the demon that had taken over his mother’s body had quite a different agenda - and certainly not one of his once caring, human mother - he had killed it, as well.

For the first time since he’d learned that he had been responsible for his mother’s death, the full and utter gravity of exactly what he had done to her hit him full force. No longer supporting him, his legs gave way, dropping him to his knees in front of her grave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

GREENWICH - WATCHER’S COUNCIL OFFICES

Determinedly, the vicar politely declined the offer of yet another glass of scotch, interlocking his fingers on his lap to keep from being tempted by more liquid comfort. As it were, he'd lost count as the watcher did his best to fill him in on the history of William the Bloody, a.k.a., Spike; now once more going by his given, Christian name, William Worthington. Unconsciously, he shook his head and let out a sigh. He looked up to find Rupert staring at him, concern written on the other man’s face.

"Are you alright?" Giles asked.

"I’m not sure."

"I understand. It’s a lot to take in, George."

The vicar nodded slowly. "That, my good man, may be the understatement of the century; perhaps all three in which William’s story takes place."

Giles laughed softly. "Indeed, if I hadn’t known Spike back in Sunnydale, I dare say I wouldn’t have believed it myself."

The vicar put his hand up to his chin, rubbing it, as his mind sought to comprehend the impossible.

"William died...saving the world, yet now he lives," the vicar said, awe in his voice.

"Yes, although technically, it was Spike who did that. William was already long dead. Of course, as a vampire, so was Spike."

"I believe the term you once used was animated corpse," the vicar said.

Giles winced, knowing as the term had left his lips that it hadn’t nearly rung as true as it once had. Only for simplicity’s sake, did he still stick to the party line by way of explanation. Of course, when it came to Spike - whom maddeningly, always had defied any simple clarification of his checkered existence - he was once more left to back pedal, and to try to explain the unexplainable.

"I apologize for your having been the beneficiary of my poor choice in wording. I guess animated corpse is more apt a description for a zombie. I can assure you, Spike was never that; animated, however, is quite apropos," Giles allowed himself a small grin, as numerous memories of the once, frenetic and hyperactive vampire came to mind.

"However, let me explain. When a vampire is sired, the human is killed. The demon usurps both the body and memories of the previous owner, but it's not that person any longer; hence the term. Semantics aside; in this case, Spike was really dead and gone."

"I understand that. What I don’t understand is this: If as you say, Spike was nothing more than a demon, then how is it that he seemed to have been capable of good, of love, even self-sacrifice, as you yourself have borne witness to? Many of these, even before he sought out the return of his soul."

Giles took his time before answering, taking a drink to give himself a few moments as he composed his thoughts. He knew it was too much information, for one afternoon, to divulge what he knew of certain species of demons who didn’t seem harmful at all. Such as Buffy and Spike’s friend, Clem, or others he’d had productive and non-confrontational dealings with over the years. Not that he ever trusted any of them 100%, because of what they were, but if he were honest with himself, he could say the same of most humans. He sighed.

"I'm afraid that's the million dollar question, George, and for which I can only speculate. The only thing I know for certain is that Spike was truly an anomaly; a vampire that still seemed to possess genuine human qualities that went far beyond what one would suspect merely being William’s memories. As to why or how this happened, or if in the world there are others vampires like him, I suspect not. Honestly, I have no answers."

The light through the window behind Giles’ desk was beginning to ebb, as it does in late December. The snowstorm of earlier had now blown over, just in time for the sun to make a brief appearance, before setting for the day. Across the vast expanse of Greenwich Park, the pristine, fresh snow shone like a setting out of a Currier & Ives painting. The vicar absently looked to the east, seeking out the familiar steeple of St. Sebastian’s, and just as he did, the low rays of the sun chose that moment to illuminate the golden cross on top of it. Suddenly, it all became clear.

The Reverend George Handley bowed his head and said a quick, silent prayer. When he opened his eyes, a peaceful countenance had settled over his features for the first time that afternoon.

"I do," the vicar said, his voice hushed and reverent.

"Pardon?" Giles asked.

"It’s not surprising that William defies simple logic. It isn’t too often that God shows us miracles."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the only word that came to William’s mind as he knelt in front of his mother’s grave. He was an abomination in the sight of God and everything holy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"God?" Giles asked.

"Of course; do you know any other way that William could’ve been resurrected - made flesh again?"

"Resurrected? I never quite thought of it in those terms."

"What else would you call it?"

"I’d call it the fulfillment of a certain prophecy."

"A prophecy, you say?"

"Yes, the Shanshu Prophecy, to be exact. It stated that a vampire who saved the world, would be made human again. So you see, I’m not sure that God has anything to do with it, George," Giles said gently.

Along with his crash – and quite literally at that -- education regarding vampires and demons, the good Reverend Handley had also learned of magic, of prophecies, and of the existence of beings the watcher referred to as The Powers That Be. With that newly acquired knowledge, he had no choice but to adjust his views of the world – both human and heavenly. He came to the conclusion that what he’d lacked beforehand, was merely knowledge about God’s mysterious, chain-of-command, as he came to think of it.

Or perhaps…just perhaps, the world – both human and demon and everything in between - was left to develop on it’s own; like the single cell that evolved into a myriad of creatures that inhabit all of earth today. Still, to the vicar, God would always be the ultimate Power, and the conscience of the human soul. The fact that all these other beings and elements existed in the world didn’t lessen the importance or belief in God; it only strengthened it.

"I am," the vicar answered, with a smile that left no doubt of his sincerity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"William..."

Moments after his knees hit the ground William could feel Elizabeth’s arms as they wrapped around him. He accepted them for what they were - comfort, but he didn’t glance at her. Surely, the sympathy he would see in her eyes for him would only further serve as, yet more, inescapable proof of his most grievous of sins.

His head turned towards the headstone that bore his name.

"This is where I belong; where I’m supposed to be," William said, his voice a strained whisper.

"NO! No, it’s not," Buffy insisted, holding him tighter, against the cold, against the pain she knew this was causing him, and the numbness she feared would take root. Over the past months she’d been so afraid that William had permanently drifted from her, and into his personal hell of suffering. She hadn’t just gotten him back, only to lose him again!

"You’re here for a reason!" Buffy said, adamantly. "You survived all those years because you are a survivor. Then you died; saving the world, and the fact that you’re back now, there’s a reason. There’s a reason..."

He didn’t answer her. For a long time now, William accepted that despite the prophecy that had brought him back and given him a reprieve, that surely, at the end of his days Hell awaited him for all the evil he had committed.

He didn't share this with Elizabeth; it would only serve to hurt her. He knew that like so many other times, she'd try to dissuade him, assuring him that he'd fought against his nature, defeated evil, and that he’d become, and now was, a good man. That may have been so, but in his eyes, it didn’t change anything. She may have been able to save him from his involuntary restraints in Chicago, and from much bigger, badder evils in Sunnydale, and even those that had come after him in Julian, but not even she could save him from his past; nobody could. His day of reckoning would come.

END CHAPTER 200

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Thanks to all my readers for sticking with it. Things are about to start getting exciting, as we finally (and I say we, since all of you are as much invested in this as I am - at least I hope so) near the beginning of the end.

Thanks to my beta, Judy, who is my co-pilot...in a totally non-gay, non religious way...not that there's anything wrong with that. *g*